Fire When Ready (Manor House Mystery) (4 page)

No one else appeared to be taking any notice of her, however. Seizing the moment, Elizabeth snatched the scissors from the hands of the terrified young girl who held them and snipped the blue ribbon in half.

Raising the gleaming shears above her head, she called out, "I now pronounce this establishment open. May all who work here be productive and happy. God bless England, and God save the King!"

"England and the King!" the crowd roared back.

"Thank heavens," Elizabeth said, handing the scissors to McNally. "I was afraid we were going to have a riot on our hands. We appear to have weathered that particular storm rather nicely."

"Maybe," McNally said, his face now grave. "I said nought about this before, ye ladyship, because I didna want to worry you. But I'm afraid there could be a bigger storm on the horizon."

Elizabeth stared at him in concern. "What do you mean?"

McNally gestured at the crowd. "What I mean," he said slowly, "is that someone out there wants rather desperately to see me dead and buried. And I have not the slightest doubt he means business."

CHAPTER

3

The shock of McNally's words took Elizabeth's breath away. "Surely you must be mistaken," she said, when she could finally speak again. "I know the villagers have concerns about the factory, but I find it difficult to accept that someone feels strongly enough about it to go to such great lengths as murder."

"Aye, I hope you're right." McNally looked over his shoulder to see if his two assistants were listening. After satisfying himself that they were engrossed in conversation with each other, he said quietly, "I've been getting letters. Pushed through my letterbox by someone's hand. They're not signed, and they all say the same thing: Pull down the factory or prepare to meet my Maker."

"Oh, dear. How very upsetting." Elizabeth struggled
with common sense. "I'm quite sure the letters are just an attempt to frighten you into closing down the factory. I have no doubt the author of them has no intention of carrying out such a ridiculous threat. People say a lot of things they don't mean when they are agitated about something."

"I hope you're right." McNally stared bleakly across the heads of the people milling around. "I just wish they could see the benefits of this business, instead of concentrating on the pitfalls. This factory will bring money into the town. New life. New opportunities. A chance for Sitting Marsh to grow and prosper."

Elizabeth sighed. "I'm afraid that's the problem. The older people don't want things to change. They like things the way they are."

McNally gave her a probing glance. "Is that how you feel, your ladyship?"

"I want what's best for my people." Elizabeth glanced up at the unsightly building. "I have to be honest, Mr. McNally. Right now, I'm not sure what that is."

"Well, it'll work out, you'll see." McNally rubbed his hands together. "Just wait until we get cracking on the production lines and the workers start bringing home those big paychecks. That'll change their minds in a hurry."

Elizabeth had her doubts on that score. A good many of the villagers considered money the root of all evil. But she kept her counsel for now. Time would indeed tell. And perhaps McNally was right. Perhaps new life was exactly what Sitting Marsh needed to bring it out of the dark ages and into a bright new future.

After bidding the Scotsman farewell, she made her way across the car park to where she'd left her motorcycle. As she approached, she saw the stocky figure of Captain Wally Carbunkle waving to her. She headed toward him, her heart
sinking when she saw Rita Crumm standing at his side. She wished now she'd pretended not to notice Wally's greeting. Fortunately, the rest of Rita's entourage appeared to have dispersed, no doubt anxious to get back to the security of their homes.

Wally pulled his sea captain's cap from his head as she approached. He'd trimmed his normally bushy white beard and mustache and looked quite dapper. Rita seemed a little uneasy, her gaze darting everywhere except at Elizabeth when she paused in front of them.

"Your ladyship," Wally said, "that was a dandy speech. Got me right here." He jammed a thumb in his chest. "Very stirring. Aye, indeed."

"Thank you, Captain." Elizabeth did her best to ignore Rita, who was fidgeting with her gloves, pulling them on and off. "I hope I managed to ease some of the concerns of the villagers."

"Oh, I reckon you did at that." Wally beamed. "I've been trying to do a bit of that, myself, you know. Since I'm the new night watchman for the factory."

Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. "You're working for Mr. McNally?"

Wally puffed out his chest. "That's right, your ladyship. Mr. McNally needed someone for the job and I volunteered. After all, we can't be too careful now, can we. Very dangerous stuff going on in this establishment. McNally needs someone responsible to watch over it at night."

"Yes, indeed," Elizabeth murmured. "But I was under the impression you'd retired."

"From the sea, m'm, yes, I have." He leaned toward her and winked. "But now I'm getting married, I'm going to need a little extra, so to speak. I have to keep my bride in the manner to which she's been accustomed."

"Well, that shouldn't be too difficult," Rita said huffily.

Ignoring her, Wally smiled at Elizabeth. "Speaking of which, your ladyship, seeing as how Priscilla and me are taking the plunge, I was wondering if you'd do us the honor of attending our little ceremony. I know my little lady would be very happy to see you there."

"I'd be delighted to come to your wedding," Elizabeth said warmly. "Just give Polly all the details. I shall look forward to it."

"Thank you, Lady Elizabeth. Priscilla will be very pleased."

"Is it going to be a big wedding?" Rita asked loudly.

Wally started as if he'd forgotten she was there. "What? Oh, no, Mrs. Crumm. Not at all. Just a few close friends and relatives, that's all."

Rita smoothed her gloves on again. "I see." She glanced slyly at Elizabeth. "I hope you didn't take anything I said this morning personally, your ladyship."

"Of course not, Rita," Elizabeth said pleasantly. "You were stating your opinion, to which we are all entitled."

"Exactly." Rita tossed her head back, nearly dislodging the floppy felt hat she wore. "After all, I have only the best interests of the people at heart."

Suggesting I don't
, Elizabeth fumed inwardly.

Rita turned to Wally. "I imagine you're inviting the
important
people of the village to your wedding?"

Wally seemed taken aback by the question. "Well, I hadn't really given it much thought—"

"Well, I should just like to say that as head of the Housewives League and, as her ladyship so truly pointed out, my efforts are greatly appreciated by the government, I think I have a place of standing in Sitting Marsh, do I not?"

Wally scratched his thick mane of white hair. "I suppose so, but—"

"Well, then?" Rita glared at him, while Elizabeth did her best to hide a smile. Poor Wally. He was no match for the formidable Rita.

" I . . . don't see . . . what . . . what . . ." he sputtered.

Obviously put out, Rita leaned forward and thrust her face close to his. "The wedding," she said, forming each word carefully. "I hope I can expect an invitation?"

"Oh!" Wally looked hopefully at Elizabeth, but there was little she could do to help.

Feeling sorry for him, she said brightly, "Well, I must be off. Duty calls and all that." Without waiting for a response, she set off toward her motorcycle. Just as she reached it she caught sight of a tall figure in the forest-green uniform of the American Army Air Force, and her heart turned over. The officer had his back to her and was talking to the young girls who had stood with McNally at the top of the stairs.

They were looking up at him and giggling. As if in a trance, Elizabeth watched them, conscious of her heart pounding in her side. Then the man turned to leave, and she saw at once it wasn't Earl. How could it be? Earl was thousands of miles away on a different continent.

She swung her leg across the saddle of the motorcycle as elegantly as she could manage, ever mindful that someone could be watching her. But her thoughts were on the young officer as he crossed the car park. She had to stop this, she told herself sternly. She had to stop seeing Earl's figure in every uniformed back. She had to stop watching for him, hoping he'd return. He hadn't said so in so many words, but he'd left her with the impression that he didn't expect to return to Sitting Marsh. In fact, he'd been replaced by another
major—a somewhat boorish man who thankfully had declined the invitation to be billeted at the Manor House, opting instead to stay on the base.

Several of the officers staying at the manor had also expressed relief at the news that their new commanding officer wouldn't be staying in their quarters. They all missed Earl, who had been firm but approachable with his men.

None of them could possibly miss him as much as she did. Roaring down the High Street, Elizabeth blinked, telling herself it was the wind that brought the tears to her eyes. She was recovering from her ridiculous crush on Major Earl Monroe. The longer he was away, the less she remembered him. And if she kept telling herself that, one day it might actually be true.

It was a week later when the unthinkable happened. By then, thanks to a spell of warmer air coming in from the south, the snow had all but disappeared. Elizabeth had started taking the dogs for long walks now that the grass was visible again. George and Gracie, a gift from Earl and named by him, romped joyfully across the Downs, enjoying the long-awaited freedom.

Elizabeth loved to watch them play. Their bloodhound mix gave them ungainly legs and heads that seemed too big for their bodies, yet they managed to look incredibly graceful as they raced across the long grass. The dogs had been a huge comfort to her after Earl had left, as if he had left part of himself behind with them.

After tiring herself out one windy afternoon, she'd retreated early to her bedroom, planning to read a new novel she'd picked up in North Horsham earlier that week. As usual, however, reading made her sleepy, and after only a page or two into the book, she fell soundly asleep.

She awoke later to the sound of her door opening, and Violet's urgent voice. "Lizzie? Wake up. You have to get up. We've been bombed."

Elizabeth sat up, shaking the sleep from her mind. "Bombed? Where? At the manor?"

"No, of course not. You would have woken up long before this if we had. Have you got your blackout curtains closed?"

"Yes, of course. But . . ."

Violet switched on the light. She stood in the doorway, her frizzy hair standing on end. Obviously it had not received the benefit of a comb. One hand clutched the neck of her wool dressing gown, while in the other she held a torch, the beam of which swept the ceiling as she gestured with it. "Get up, Lizzie. The Germans have dropped a bomb on the factory."

"Oh, no!" Elizabeth threw back the covers and reached for her blue quilted dressing gown lying at the foot of her bed. "When? What happened?"

"I just heard the news from George. He's downstairs waiting for you. He's in such a dither, you'd never know he was a blinking policeman the way he's carrying on."

Elizabeth dragged on her dressing gown and squinted at the clock. "What's the time?"

"It's almost one o'clock. George says the bomb must have been dropped at about eleven. Fred Shepperton called him from the Tudor Arms. You'd think a farmer would have his own telephone, wouldn't you, instead of having to ride his bike down the coast road to the pub."

"I don't believe it." Elizabeth struggled to clear her mind. "How did German planes manage to find that building in the dark without being detected by the American base or the army camp?"

"Don't ask me. They must have all been asleep on duty over there."

Violet was shivering, but whether from cold or fright Elizabeth couldn't tell. She was cold herself, in spite of her heavy dressing gown. Their only source of heat was a coal fireplace, and her fire had long gone out, leaving the room as damp and chilled as the lawns outside.

"What about the American officers?" Elizabeth demanded, following her housekeeper to the stairs. "Did anyone wake them?"

"Not only woke them up, they're on their way to the base." Violet's face was white in the reflection from her torch.

"And Martin and Sadie?"

"In the kitchen. Martin's got the old blunderbuss from off the wall again. Won't let go of it. Keeps saying he's going down fighting."

"Oh, dear." Elizabeth wrapped the collar of her dressing gown closer around her neck. "I do hope he didn't load it."

"I doubt if it would fire even if he did. It's older than he is." Violet reached the bottom step and hurried toward the kitchen. "I left Sadie making a pot of tea. Though I don't know if we'll have time to drink it. We might have to evacuate the manor."

Not if I have any say in the matter
, Elizabeth thought firmly. This was her home and no Nazi bomber was going to put her out of it.

Inside the kitchen, the light seemed all the brighter after the eerie glow of Violet's torch. Police Constable George Dalrymple sat at the table with Martin, both men sipping a cup of tea. As Elizabeth entered the room George dropped the cup back in the saucer and shot to his feet.

Martin's cup clattered into his saucer as well. He
struggled to rise, hampered by the clumsy firearm he clutched in one hand.

George nodded in Martin's direction. "I tried to take it off him, m'm. Refuses to give it up, he does."

"It's all right, George." Elizabeth gave Martin a reassuring smile. He looked particularly frail right then. The few straggly gray hairs on his head were tangled together, and he'd forgotten to put on his glasses. Instead of his usual neat attire of a crisp white shirt and tie, vest, and jacket, he wore a knitted cardigan—which had definitely seen better days—over his pyjama jacket. He kept blinking his watery eyes, as if he were trying to wake up from a bad nightmare.

"I'm sorry to disturb you this time of night, your ladyship," George said. "Thought you'd like to know what's going on."